


Affinity

by articulatae



Series: Yuwin Idol!AUs [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cigarettes, M/M, Sign Language, Smoking, WayV - Freeform, idol!Sicheng, manager!yuta, yuwin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 11:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18248516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articulatae/pseuds/articulatae
Summary: Sicheng is about to debut as a solo artist, and all he can think about is his growing feelings for his manager Nakamoto Yuta.





	Affinity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lababoreine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lababoreine).



Sicheng remembers tearing off the white, rectangular sticker, which had his name and an ID scribbled on it, off of the front of his shirt and leaving it crumpled on the dashboard.

I'm so happy for you! his mom had signed, and he had nodded his head and folded all his fingers, except the pinky finger and the index finger, bringing his hand to the side of his face and tapping the index finger just above his jaw, I know, mom. Two weeks in, and a pen was secured between the pads of his fingers and thumb, and his eyes scanned over the printed text of the contract. His ribcage felt painfully constricting, and he could swear his heart would jump out any instant. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“Can I have a day or two, to think over this?” Lie. He was rarely this willing to do anything; he felt tempted to sign the contract, which would confirm his status as a trainee at SM entertainment, but his rational side over-powered the greedy, selfish one.

He went home with mixed feelings that day.

Fast forward, and he was moving in a two roomed apartment, heaving in his minimal luggage and taking in the sight of warm coffee toned walls, white marble floor and black minimalist furniture. He was to stay with his manager.

"Nakamoto Yuta," the man in front of him said, grasping Sicheng's extended hand in a firm shake, "I'll be your manager." The ghost of smile lines lingered on his face even after he stopped smiling. Yuta helped Sicheng put his stuff away.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

There was hardly any time to adjust to the change. Sicheng found out his gym instructor tended to go hard on him: planks, reverse crunches, knee push-ups, wall push-ups, squats and one leg bridges outweighed all the other activities in his timetable. Despite that, sleep didn't come easy to him the first two weeks so he resorted to staring at the ceiling, while lying on his back, his mind conjuring up various shapes and patterns, due to the lack of light, waiting for sleep to embrace him, but after the tenth day he shrugged the comforter off and padded to the shared balcony, where he found Yuta sitting. A half filled ashtray rested beside his crossed feet and a cigarette secured between his index and middle fingers.

"Sorry," his eyes slightly widened and he waved his arm as if to clear out the smoke.

"That's okay," Sicheng slid down the wall, assuming a similar position, "couldn't sleep?"

"Well, I've been drinking too much coffee lately and when I drink it in the evening, I have trouble sleeping at night."

Sicheng's back there the next night, and they're sat in the same manner. There are too many buildings which obstruct the view of the horizon from the balcony. The air clears away the smoke that Yuta exhales. Sicheng teaches him Chinese sign language.

"You fold all your fingers except the index finger and the last finger and then tap the side of your jaw. It means mom."

Yuta does it right except his fingers cover his thumb so Sicheng unfolds them and puts them beneath the thumb. His finger tips are calloused beneath Sicheng's touch and Sicheng hopes for the rapid circulation in his ears to calm down.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Filming for the SM Rookies teaser clip doesn't take long, and after cleansing his makeup and washing off the hairspray, he's hurled into the last studio at the end of the corridor for his voice lessons. He's to practice for his debut song at the end of the session and has to stay up late at night reviewing his notes about the song structure and trying to brainstorm ideas to write lyrics for the chorus.

His muscles are sore and his back hurts from sitting in the same posture for so long, and he finds an instant relief as he stretches a little and takes a generous gulp of the beverage, allowing it down his throat, and resumes typing away on his laptop, whose minimum brightness is still too harsh on his eyes.

"When the smile lines graze your face?" Yuta said from behind the couch, peeking into his laptop and walks over to the front, plopping down beside him. Sicheng tries to contain the feelings of embarrassment frothing and bubbling inside of him.

"You don't like it?"

"It sounds like a fancy alternative to wrinkles," Yuta turns to face him and Sicheng closes the laptop and puts it away.

"No I didn't mean it to be that way."

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

His relationship with Yuta crosses from strictly professional to being something between friends and acquaintances, and for Sicheng, well, his feelings have graduated from what is universally acceptable for friends to have. He tries not to read too much on the small things- like how the rhythm of their thumping feet, racing blood and rapid breaths blend together when Yuta sometimes joins him in his routine jogging, when Yuta is solely focused on the track ahead while Sicheng subtly extends one end of his earplug to him, under the guise of being indifferent about it, but Yuta would always accept it and their shoulders and elbows would brush together for as long as they jogged. Sicheng would notice how the light contoured areas of Yuta's face or how he took in the toxins, until his lungs couldn't expand anymore; missing the relief of breathing it in, as soon as he was exhaling. Maybe Sicheng was over-romanticizing. So the next time he walked to the back gate of the company building after showering and his exercise sessions, he wanted to try the cigarette. Yuta had been reluctant about it. Sicheng emphasized that it'll be just once and the manager extended the barely consumed cigarette to him. Sicheng took it before Yuta could retrieve his hand back or change his mind and brought it to his lips, coughing soon afterwards, and crushing the cigarette with his foot immediately after that. The searing at at the back of his throat still lingered.

“You shouldn’t smoke, hyung.”

That night, Sicheng dreamt of sitting in the balcony with Yuta, but much closer so that their knees were touching. The strong wind ruffled up Yuta's hair, displacing the bangs on his forehead and when Yuta brought up his lighter to give the soft orange glow to the nicotine stick, Sicheng had moved his hands away and took the unlit end of the cigarette in his mouth like a peppero stick until his lips were hovering near Yuta's. Sicheng doesn't hear the silence of the night over the rhythmic pulsating of the heart when he wakes up. There are micro droplets covering his forehead which would create a soft sheen if one was to inspect it closely under light. He takes a deep breath and wills himself to sleep.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Its the first day of his music video filming. The light posts and the reflecting panels were set in place and the staff rushed to check the details for the last time, just so everything down to the very last speck was perfect. Sicheng stands straight, as the stylist fixes the strands of his hair. She steps back, and scrutinizes the result, seemingly satisfied, and he watches her retreat back.

“Alright. Sicheng, take your position.” The director retrieves a cigarette, and places it between his index and middle finger and stuffs the packet back to his front pocket. It isn't quite the way that Yuta holds his cigarettes, too carefully and delicately as if they were something whose beauty and magnificence was something which ought to be acknowledged.

Sicheng exhales, pushing the thoughts of Yuta out of his mind. The echoes of his footsteps get swallowed by the sand spread out on the set. He grabs a fist-full of glitter from the jar that is extended towards him, and lets the excess fall out before taking out his hand, and turns around so that his back is facing the camera.

“Ready?”

He manages a curt nod, awaiting the final cue.

“Action!”

He loosens his fist, and takes a step forward. His gaze is fixed on a spot on the screen in front of him, and he relaxes his face muscles. The wind from the fan placed a few feet away, facing him at an angle, displaces the strand of hair resting on his forehead, and creates light rustles in his shirt. He allows a small amount of glitter to slip through the cracks of his fingers, and leave a blue scattered trail on the sand.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Bighit announces BTS's comeback in May and world tour in June, so Sicheng's debut which was planned to be right at the end of May is moved up to the end of February- just six weeks away.

"We don't want it coinciding with any of the big groups because then it'll be drowned out, and we have Exo's comeback after June, so we can't delay it either."

Sicheng nods his head.

"I've already communicated this to your instructors, you'll be informed shortly of the schedule changes. You've got this, don't stress out too much over it okay? We believe in you."

"I'll do my best." He pushed his chair back.

"And one more thing before you leave, Sicheng." The PD fixed him with his gaze. "We're also having your manager replaced. Mr. Nakamoto's resignation will be effective in a week."

Yuta asks him if the CEO told him about the new manager and Sicheng tells him he did. The rest of the ride back home is quiet. The balcony is empty that night.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

From the corner of his eyes, Sicheng could see the lack of movement and how everybody’s gaze was fixated on him. The edge of the pier, where he was sitting, with one of his legs dangling off of the edge and suspended just above the body of water, was just one side of the picture; he was amidst nature within that setting, but it was just a fabrication. Behind the lens of the camera, there were all sorts of equipment, variations of tripod and camera stands, thick cables bunched up into rolls unraveled at some spots, reflecting mirrors and other screens, along with a few plastic chairs and tables set throughout the space, with thermos and packets of instant coffee and transparent jars of sugar and powdered milk, now half-full (or half-empty) after consumption by the crew and the staff. The were no ripples in the water, and the sun was setting. Had his eyes not been stinging with the eye drops they had put to create tears, the feeling of floating and the view of there being nothing but water, till the edge of the horizon, would have lulled him to sleep.

Sicheng heard a long draw of breath, followed by a sigh, and he snapped back to his senses.

“Cut!”

He had probably done something wrong.

He turned his head to face the director, and noticed the light orange glow from the screen, which was meant to re-create the sunset lighting, on one side of his face, and shadows casted under his eyes, making them look a bit droopy and tired. The glow on his own face would have looked the same, and would have enhanced his tear-stained makeup.

“Sicheng, I want your face to look blank. Stop creasing your eye-brows and relax your forehead, you’re not sitting in an examination hall.”

His gaze was sharp and pointed, and he motioned his hand as he spoke, with a lighted-up cigarette between his index and middle finger. His hold on the nicotine stick wasn’t like Yuta’s.

“Sorry”

The director took a long drag, and crushed the barely-consumed cigarette, “Count down from 3, and relax. Now.” his voice was a notch softer.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Sicheng's phone buzzes and he checks the message.

From Yuta: I had to sort out a few documents, so I'll be a bit late. It won't be more than 20 mins.

He selects the reply option.

To Yuta: Actually I wanted to go out tonight

To Yuta: So will seeu at home

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Sicheng steps out of the bar, the loud music and the flashing lights bearing down on his senses and his recurrent thoughts about Yuta adding to the burden of these excessive stimuli. He despises how his mind manages to skillfully maneuver all the small, fleeing moments about Yuta from the abyss of his subconscious. There are six missed calls from Yuta. He walks across the street to the phone booth, barely managing to get the change inside the slot. Two rings and Yuta picks up, "hello?" Sicheng cuts of the line and puts the receiver back. He slides down the wall.

It was all the same and monotonous for him now; but back in the days, when he was a trainee, being an idol was what he had been aiming for. Wasn't this what he had wanted? Nostalgia emanates, and reaches out its deep blue wings, willing to cover Sicheng and hide him under their enormity where he wouldn't be found, and he wishes to enter, and wishes to stay there. His fingers ghost over the keypad of the mobile phone in his lap and he just types out the name of the bar and sends it to Yuta, waiting until Yuta's there, holding a hand out and gesturing him to get up. He doesn't want to move. He wishes they'd just sit there in the familiar manner, with their legs squished against each other owing to the lack of space in the enclosed area.

Yuta helps him up and they head towards the parked car. Sicheng notices how their shadows are elongated and perfectly aligned over the light spilling in from the street-light on the footpath behind him.

They reach home and Yuta insisted that Sicheng eat something, and there's fried nuggets and diced radish on the coffee table. They've both barely touched anything.

"Hyung", Sicheng's voice cut through the silence, "you're not eating."

Yuta snaps out of his thoughts and apologizes, bitting into his half-eaten nugget. It was hard to decipher what he was feeling at that moment, and it made him feel worried, and restless. He particularly liked Yuta's bright smile, which refuted all the traces of sadness which the older had, and without it, he seemed to look a lot different than his usual self.

"Hyung", Sicheng said again, and Yuta looked up to meet his eyes. "I think you’ve some ketchup smeared", Sicheng said, his voice lowered a tiny bit as he pointed his finger vaguely over his mouth. Yuta mirrored the direction, and wiped the spot with the back of his hand, but found nothing on his hand. They both looked at each other for a moment.

“Here.” Sicheng shifted on the couch a little closer to him, and leaned forward. Adrenaline rushed in his system and his head felt dizzy. Red, loud sirens continuously blared in his mind. He could feel Yuta's expectant glare and extended one hand to cup his cheek as he licked off the non-existent ketchup off of the corner of his mouth.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The next day is mostly packing, and the sight of packed suitcases like the day Sicheng moved in. The new manager's handshake is firm and the corner of his mouth barely rise as he introduces himself. Sicheng wills himself to smile. They film the last scene for the music video. There's glitter on his hands, neck and face, unlike the last scene where it was staining his jeans and the hem of his shirt and the pier where he sat, in pattern that looked like somebody had dragged their hand along the surface to get it off of the palm and on the wood.

Sicheng didn’t really know which side of the picture he actually belonged to. Beyond the camera, and in front of the camera, were two different worlds running parallel to each other and having shared boundaries, and his contract bound him to be willingly thrown to whichever side he was required to be in.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He doesn't like how the buildings obscure the view of the horizon from his balcony. He gets up and pads to the bathroom, turning on the taps and letting the water flow and slowly fill up the bathtub. The sound of the water seemingly a little loud at this nightly hour when everybody was supposedly asleep. He retrieves a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket and strips out of the clothes, leaving them at a pile at the foot of the tub. The falling ash decorate the surface of the water.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

This was it- the debut stage was here finally.

“Nervous?"

The makeup artist finishes applying the layer of concealer under Sicheng’s eyes, and leaned in closer to inspect the look. He wasn’t uncomfortable by the close proximity or being under a scrutinizing gaze- hours of rigorous makeup sessions had made him used to it all. His mind was trained on the question that had been directed towards him. He did not bother to deny it, but instead offered her a meek smile and felt that she seemed to understand. Minuted passed by. Sicheng fidgeted on the chair, hoping that with whatever little change in position he was allowed; he could find a posture which would be comfortable. He took in the fancy outfit he was clad in, in the reflection, but gave up on it when the stylist kept coming in front of him, and let her finish her job.

When she's done, Sicheng's face is seamless with matte finish and he has glittery scars running from his eyes, just above the cheek bone and on to the starting edge of the temple, complimenting the dewy foundation, and the blue-specked lenses that he was wearing. He rehearses the lyrics, reminds himself to look at the decided spot if he's nervous, and he's met with a loud crowd when the lift finally pulled him up to the stage. His heart leaps in impatience to take the next step and he tries to slow down the fulfillment of the action; walk calmly, slowly, and in obedience, his gait morphs into an expression of elegance, but his pace remains tardy as if all the time in the world lies before him.

When he's done with the performance, he folds all his fingers except the index finger and the last finger and then taps the side of his jaw. The news sites publish about the new idol who signed 'Thank you mom' at the end of his debut stage. He doesn't receive any message from Yuta.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this plot in mind for ages, and I finally wanted to publish it before I decided to edit it further or change the plot phew. Anyways, did you people like it? ;-;


End file.
